


Lonely Hearts Classifieds

by elijah_was_a_prophet



Category: Bloom County
Genre: M/M, its them hanging out at the newspaper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-04-05 06:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19042999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elijah_was_a_prophet/pseuds/elijah_was_a_prophet
Summary: He was brilliant in his tenderness.1985. What happened on Election Day? What will happen now?





	Lonely Hearts Classifieds

 

> _If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,_
> 
> _Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:_

Pulitzer himself couldn’t have helped the Bloom Picayune. Rural newspapers were supposed to have charm, quaint sensibilities, a sense of the America that existed in every conservative’s heart. Reading a newspaper like the Ridgeville Teller or the Samuel Daily made one think of children selling lemonade and grandpas on the porch with an old dog reminiscing about the Depression.

 

The Bloom Picayune was like reading a Dr Bronner’s soap bottle, if the good doctor had been a conspiracy nut funded by lonely middle aged women. Articles of varying qualities of typography assaulted the reader with stories of murder and violence from the coastal cities, the Babylons of their time. Editorials lambasted the midnight alien raids and the secret military flights in the sky. Letters to the editor accused the staff of being communists, anarchists, leftists, hippies, part of the conspiracy, ignorant of the conspiracy, and members of the Zane Grey fanclub. The only part of the paper that didn’t make the world seem like it was falling apart were the classifieds. Those were just a bit sad.

 

_Missed connection- I was at the lettuce, you were humming “I Ran” while shopping in the apples. Please call me. 546-283-183_

 

_Mature woman seeks similarly mature man for relaxed companionship. I am a Libra, work at William Harrison Elementary, and have 2 cats. Smokers need not apply. 546-193-209_

 

“If I see the word mature again I’m going to lose it.” Milo muttered. As the youngest of the three newspaper employees, it had fallen on him to sort the mail- Mrs. Rainwater’s gout had been acting up anyways.

 

“I think it’s a polite term. You never want to ask a lady’s age, and it gives connotations of class.” Binkley was sitting nearby with his own pile of mail. Betty Rainwater’s advice column could not stop, and Binkley was the only other person in existence who’d understand the importance of the salad fork being in a muted pewter instead of silver.

 

Milo sighed. “Binkley, Greta Thurmond is a woman of loose morals and looser drawers. Back in ‘62 she went to court for the first recorded instance of trigamy in the county.”

 

“Elizabeth Taylor has had six husbands and she’s as radiant as ever.”

 

“Elizabeth Taylor also has loose drawers.”

 

Binkley threw an envelope to the floor. “I can’t stand for this slander! Mrs. Taylor is one of the most iconic women in recent history. Everyone fondly remembers her appearance as Cleopatra in the biggest blockbuster of 1962. She’s Marilyn if Marilyn had lived longer. A real queen of cinema.”

 

Milo couldn’t look at Binkley’s flushed face for long. It made him think of the day after elections, when they’d sat in the dandelion field and asked the cosmos how a political party could get negative votes. They’d laid there until dark, and when Binkley had picked his head up and said he had to get home before the perverts came out Milo had kissed him.

 

It was less of a liplock and more of a faceplant. He’d miscalculated the trajectory, overestimated the force, and hadn’t counted on Binkley turning his head at the last second. Glasses flew. Teeth were knocked. Milo saw his short life flash before him.

 

They scuttled away and never spoke of it again. But Milo remembered a split second in the middle, a tiny point where he could have sworn Binkley kissed him back. But he figured he must have been imagining it.

 

_Single man seeks woman. I am 29, handsome, and enjoy General Hospital. Please no divorcees, college graduates, independent women, or nags. 546-249-021_

 

_Star goddess wishing for love. I am a Pisces born in the Year of the Horse who seeks my astral plane mate. If you’ve seen a woman wearing amethyst in your dreams, please apply lavender oil to your crown chakra and call 546-020-028_

 

“Milo, is there a limit to how honest an astrologer can be? I’m writing the horoscopes and am torn between giving the real state of panic we should be in, or platitudes about working hard and random good fortune.”

 

Milo turned around in his chair. “Are they paying you for this?”

 

“Are they paying you?”

 

“Two quarters an article, three if I go buy cigarettes for Editor Dunnstock.” He opened his wallet to show his profits so far- 8.50 since the beginning of the summer, minus the cost of bribes and the 25 cent toll to ride the Ferris wheel at the Bloom County Fair. But the picture he’d snapped from the top had won him a tri-county photography contest and a new Kodak camera, so it’d been worth the change.

 

Binkley blinked. “Mrs. Rainwater promised me a pan of brownies if I covered for her.” he said. “But her cooking is simply atrocious, an affront to baked goods everywhere. I said yes because the air conditioning is broken at my house.”

 

“Air conditioning is a recent luxury. The boarding house still doesn’t have it on the third floor.”

 

Binkley didn’t answer. He stacked some letters with more force than necessary, then checked the clock. “Is it lunchtime yet?”

 

“I eat on the job. The news never stops and neither do I.”

 

“Can you toss me a quarter for a milkshake, then?”

 

Milo flipped it over like a cool PI in a noir film. “Keep the change.”

 

“There won’t be any change, Bloom.” Binkley stalked out. Milo watched the door slam behind him.

 

 _He never calls me that._ Milo thought. Binkley had been Binkley since second grade, when Michael Calhoun had challenged him for ownership of the name Michael. The bigger boy had won after pining Binkley to the ground and breaking his wrist. Only Milo and a few of the girls had signed his cast. Michael Calhoun had also once force fed Binkley dirt, then used a dime to rub a bone deep cut over his collarbone. Benjamin O'Connor had pantsed him once a week for the entirety of middle school. Sarah McDonald had stolen his lunch and then summoned crocodile tears to make the teacher believe Binkley had hit her. The list just went on and on.

 

But Milo Bloom saw a light at the heart of this weird skinny boy who cried too much and was always alone. A fierce sensitivity separated him from most other people in the town. He was brilliant in his tenderness.

 

_Single man seeks friendship. 23, college graduate, likes cooking and Led Zeppelin. If you hate the Beatles don’t bother. 546-494-293_

 

_Are you the one? Do you find yourself crying at night? Is there a gaping hole in your heart? 546-859-813_


End file.
